


god knows i tried

by Murf1307



Category: DCU (Comics), Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Enemies With Benefits, M/M, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, no happily ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 09:46:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15070490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: Clark and Lex are enemies.  But for enemies, they sure have sex a lot.  Clark gets existential.  Lex makes a discovery.





	god knows i tried

The thing is, ultimately, that they shouldn't be doing this.  Superman shouldn't find himself at Lex Luthor's window, shouldn't find Luthor's tongue in his mouth, plundering like he plunders everything else.

But he's here, and the conqueror's mouth against his own is somehow a balm to his soul, even as Luthor bites down hard on his lip, hands curled in the S-blazon, the El crest, like he wants to rip it apart.  

Luthor deals in symbols and stories: the self-made man, the misunderstood genius,the political neophyte beloved of his city's people, the monster under the city's gleaming facade.  Here, he is the menace Clark can't escape, the memory and the monster who shares his bed like he belongs there.

Clark can still taste Smallville, Kansas, on Luthor's tongue.

He hates that he needs this, that Luthor is still looming so large in his soul fifteen years later.  He hates that Luthor turned out the way he did.

The kiss breaks.  Luthor smirks.

“Congratulations, Mister Mayor,” Clark says, like they aren't about to find their way to Luthor's sheets.  “A hard-fought election, for sure.”

“The only way to fight is to fight hard,” Luthor says, smirk widening.  “Watch: in six years, you'll be telling me 'happy birthday, Mister President.’”

And Luthor will savor every second of that.  Luthor knows how much it grates at him to play nice for the cameras.

“Maybe,” Clark allows, his hands bruising on Luthor's hips.  “Maybe you’ll lose.”

Luthor laughs.  “Superman, you know better than that.”

“A man has to have hope.”  Clark doesn’t give Luthor time to answer, kissing him harshly and walking him back toward Luthor’s bedroom, the interior room and ensuite bathroom the only rooms in the penthouse to have any walls at all.

Situated in the exact center of the floor, the perfect vantage for the kind of man who believes the world is out to get him.

“Saccharine,” Luthor complains, about Clark’s response, but he follows it with another kiss, dragging Clark the rest of the way into the bedroom.  

Clark lets him, and really, that should say everything right there.

 

* * *

 

In bed with Lex Luthor, Clark has found a sort of peace that he can’t really describe.  It doesn’t make  _ sense _ .

But Luthor strips away all of that, all of the tension of how much they hate each other, somehow, when they’re here alone together.  He touches Clark like Clark imagines he touches anyone else: with purpose, and with a surprising amount of candor.

Luthor  _ knows _ what he wants in bed.  And he’s not afraid to say it.  Here, he requires an honesty that, for once, Clark can  _ give _ .

And Clark, deep in his heart of hearts, has  _ always  _ wanted to be honest with a lover.  He's been with men and women before Lex — he's even had the privilege of Lois Lane astride him in the dark — but that was always  _ just _ Clark, always hiding the fact that it would be so easy to hurt them.

Superman never took a lover, at least not publicly.  But here, now, he  _ has  _ a lover, who hates him.

Nevertheless, Luthor  _ wants _ him.

Clark wonders if this is conquest for Lex, an ambition fulfilled — mastery over his personal obsession, because he has not yet destroyed him.

He doesn't know for sure, can't knit together the pieces of the teenager he knew and the man he knows into something that makes any sense at all.  Smallville is a distant dream as Luthor rolls them over, so that Clark is slung above him on the bed.

Luthor spreads his legs with a smirk, filthy with desire.  “Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me.”

“That's tasteless,” Clark says of the reference, but his hand slips between Luthor’s legs, anyway, both of them having already shed their clothes.  

“But,” Luthor says, all-too-pleased with himself, “You're still going to fuck me.”

It’s true.  Clark sighs, and presses two thick fingers into Lex’s slick cunt to start with, wanting to hear the gasping moan Luthor makes when he’s stretched unexpectedly like that.

“I should have you over your desk someday,” he says, voice low.  “No preamble. No real foreplay. Just me, pinning you down and pushing inside you.”

Luthor brings this out in him, what he imagines is the animal in him.  Luthor makes him  _ want _ .

“You don’t have the guts to do something like that,” Luthor says, between gasping breaths as Clark scissors his fingers, spreading him wide.  “Not where we could get caught, where it could destroy you.”

Clark shakes his head.  “But you would love it, wouldn’t you?  If I took you like that?”

Luthor moans, face reddening.  “Yes,” he admits.

“Then I might just.  You look so good underneath me, wanting me.”  Clark pulls his fingers free and glances down to see the brief gaping of Lex’s cunt.  He doesn’t like admitting it, but that turns him on.

He lines his cock up with Lex’s slit, his hand coming up to cup the side of Lex’s neck.  No hair to pull — something he imagines Lex would like. And Lex  _ does _ like the reminder, in this, that Clark could choke him, could hurt him.  That they  _ have _ hurt each other, outside this room.  

That they’ll hurt each other tomorrow, and the next day, into forever and ever, amen.

“Fuck,” Lex groans as Clark thrusts in.  Clark does it faster than he would with anyone else, the transgression of it turning him on as the discomfort seems to do it for Lex.  Under Clark’s thumb, the pulse of Lex’s carotid is erratic and fast.

Seated inside Lex, Clark takes a moment to enjoy the tight, wet heat of him.  It’s been a while since he’s had anyone else, but Lex has always been the best he’s ever had.

Worth savoring, when he can get it.

“I’ll be busier, now,” Lex manages, breathless.  “Might be hard to find time for this.”

Clark shakes his head and kisses Lex, because he knows better.  “If you can make time to try and kill me, you can make time to fuck me.”

Lex moans; he seems to get special pleasure out of making Clark say things like ‘fuck,’ ‘cunt,’ ‘cock,’ and the like.  Must have to do with Superman’s clean-cut image, Clark thinks; more often than not, he’s happy to oblige.

He is something different, in Lex Luthor's bed.  He's not Clark Kent, reporter, or Superman, hero, or even Kal-El, alien.

In Lex Luthor's bed, he is merely a man that _wants_.

 

* * *

 

“Superman,” Luthor greets, in the middle of the afternoon, in the Mayor's private office.  “What brings you here?”

He must know.  They both know that none of Luthor's schemes are worth upending, not right now, and there's only one other reason that Superman would seek the man out.  

“Can you loop the cameras?”

“Yes.” A button pressed on the desk, a fire in Luthor's eyes banking.

Clark approaches, skirting the ornate wooden desk.  “The inconvenient thing about you, Luthor, is that lately, you've made yourself difficult to find.  I had to make an  _ appointment _ .”

“Mercy is a competent secretary.”  Luthor smirks. “People may wonder, Superman, just what we're up to in here.”

“The truth, certainly, would be a massive political scandal.” Clark can imagine it — the tabloid hit pieces, the calls for Luthor's resignation, the social unrest caused if Superman was  _ known  _ to fuck men.  It would be low, and dirty, and could topple both of them.

That's why he's not worried about Luthor taping them, about the security cameras Luthor turned off, and the ones he's sure Luthor didn't.  

It's not trust, but an understanding.  Mutually assured destruction.

Lex has always had his dangerous vices, but self-destruction was never among them.  He'll keep their secret as closely guarded as Clark has always kept his own, and so, this is all worth doing.

_ This _ being pulling Lex to him, kissing him with heat.  

_ This  _ being sliding his hands down to grip Lex's ass, lifting him from the chair and setting him down on the desk.

_ This  _ being “cheating” a little by using his superspeed on the buttons, belts, and zippers of Lex's clothes.

Lex chuckles.  “Eager.”

“I can smell how wet you are,” Clark retorts. “You started getting wet when I walked in, Luthor.  Is that all it takes?”

_ “Shit,” _ Lex hisses, his face beginning to redden.  

Clark doesn’t normally talk like this, doesn’t normally  _ act _ like this.  Even though he wants Lex like he’s never wanted anyone — a want with no romantic love attached, a desire that is as pure in its way as the way he loved (still loves, though it’s over now) Lois Lane.  

Here, like this, he wants Lex more than he ever loved him, back when they were teenagers.

He did love Lex, then.  He knows he did.

Now?

Ask him in an hour.  In an hour, he won’t know what to say.

Now, he doesn’t.  He doesn’t  _ need _ to.  

Instead, he presses Lex against the desk, one hand slipping inside his pants and underwear.  “I like knowing I can do this to you,” he murmurs, running his fingers against Lex’s pussy. “That you  _ like _ it.”

Lex moans.  “I hate you,” he says, hips hitching.  “So much.”

“I know,” Clark murmurs.  “But you like having my cock inside you anyway.”  He keeps Lex pinned, and undoes the crotch of his costume.  “Don’t you?”

“Don’t make me say it,” Lex says, his eyes alight with simmering anger.

Clark smirks.  “I won’t,” he says, kissing Lex again as he presses inside him, bottoming out much more quickly than usual.

Lex exhales, his hands scrabbling on Clark’s back.  It's tense, and undignified, and, with any luck, Clark's come will be dripping out of Lex for hours when this is over.  Clark doesn't like to admit how much he likes that, because it's the only trace he ever leaves; he has never so much as left Lex a hickey.

Is it possessive?  Yes. But, again — right now, he couldn't care less.

He starts with a fairly strong rhythm, fucking Lex open on his cock.  Lex actually  _ whimpers _ at it, and Clark has never heard him make that sound before.

He kisses Lex again, and Lex's fingers tighten on the back of the suit, digging in enough to bruise anyone else.  Lex never goes easy, because he knows he doesn't have to, and Clark can never get enough of that.

It doesn't take long, especially after Clark has to press his hand to Lex's mouth to keep him quiet.  Lex comes first — he almost always does — with a strangled, muffled moan, and it pulls Clark over the edge; he thrusts all the way in, Lex yelping as the head of his cock hits Lex's cervix.

He comes long and hard, and Lex is already limp by the time Clark's finished.  He looks debauched, collar and tie undone and eyes hooded with satisfaction.

He leans down and whispers, “Happy birthday, Mister Mayor,” then uses his superspeed to put himself to rights and vanish, too fast for Lex's eyes to follow.  

 

* * *

 

It isn't healthy.  Clark knows that.

But he  _ likes _ it, and he's run the numbers: Luthor has done less evil lately.  Between his duties as mayor and sponsoring some minor organized criminality aimed at pushing the Yakuza out of Metropolis, Luthor just hasn't had the  _ time _ .

And the less time he has to do real evil, the better.  That's Clark's moral justification for doing this. Of course, the real  _ reason  _ is simple, perverse pleasure.  

In bed, their war plays out in microcosm.

In bed, they both  _ win. _

No one is hurt, no collateral damage; just the two of them, cracking each other open when they can get away with it.

Clark doesn’t know why Lex wants him, and he tries not to think about why he wants Lex.  The fact of the matter is that they  _ do  _ want each other, and they can have each other as they please.

Luthor finds him, in the aftermath of a tangle with Zod.  Clark is bleeding, as he so rarely does, and they're standing in an alley away from the carnage Zod wrought and the collateral damage Clark couldn't avoid.  The world will be looking for them, is probably looking for them already: Metropolis's mayor and her hero, necessary images in aftermath of disasters.

But Luthor is watching Clark like he watches him in bed, eyes tracing the blood trailing down his head and neck.

“What is it?”

“I want to make you bleed like that,” Luthor says, close enough now to reach out and press his fingers to the tracks the bleeding leaves; they come away bloody.

Clark's stomach twists in a mix of desire, disgust, and fear — if any man can make him bleed, it will be Lex.

“You're welcome to try.”

Lex looks at the blood on his fingertips, then presses them to his own mouth, tasting.  Clark nearly shudders from that twisted mix of revulsion and desire. “Yes, I certainly will.”

Clark nods, just a little, and the moment breaks.

They head for the main street, Clark’s blood still under Lex’s nails.

 

* * *

 

Lex shoves at him.  “ _ How dare you?! _ ”

Clark steps back.  “I’m sorry — Lex, you have to understand —“

“Oh, I  _ understand. _ ”  Lex snarls, closing the space between them.  “ _ Clark. _ ”

Clark sighs, covering his eyes with one hand for a moment.  “I really am sorry. But —  _ Lois _ doesn’t even know.”

“I don’t care about Lane!  I don’t care about anything but the fact that we’ve been fucking for a  _ year.   _ For a fucking  _ year _ , and I didn’t know it was  _ you! _ ”  Lex is pissed as hell, and Clark really can’t blame him.  

It was always going to come to this.  “Should I have trusted you?  _ You _ , Lex?  You want me dead.”

He hasn’t forgotten that, hasn’t forgotten the way Lex promised to make him bleed.  He hates the fact that it doesn’t stop him from wanting Lex, hates that Lex has wanted him at all, that they’re both in this situation now.

Lex snarls.  “I  _ hate you _ .  I hate  _ you _ more than I hate  _ you! _ ”

It doesn’t make any sense, but Clark just sighs.  “Is this — what is this about?”

“You ruined everything.  You — I thought  _ you _ of all people would understand my excitement about the meteorites, but you were  _ afraid _ , just like everyone else!”  Lex stalks away, lost in memory.  “And then everything went wrong, and you weren’t even there.  So I left, and tried to put you out of my mind.”

Clark swallows, remembering that night too well.  “It was Kryptonite, Lex — it wasn’t about you, it was making me literally sick and I  _ couldn’t _ be there.”

“I didn’t know that then!  All I knew was that you didn’t care enough to not be afraid, or to come back to me.”

“I know, but — you didn't leave any way to contact you.” He regrets not trying to reach out, but he has to defend himself.  Lex leaving all those years ago was  _ never  _ his fault.  “I thought that meant you were done with Smallville.”

Lex turns away.  “I don't want to hear your excuses.  Go away.”

“I loved you, back then,” Clark confesses, a last-ditch truth to save...whatever this was.  “I was gonna — I was gonna ask if you wanted to go to prom with me, or skip prom with me, you know.”

But he never got the chance.

In the silence that greets his confession, he walks away, his footsteps careful on the roof.

It's not his fault.

That much, he's sure of.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't approach Lex again.

 

* * *

 

Lex doesn't approach him, either.


End file.
